My husband is talking to my belly.
I know what you're thinking...
Oh, how sweet! Isn't that adorable?
Well, yes, it should be sweet and adorable except that he is saying things like, "Okay little sac, there will be no crying between the hours of midnight and 10am, and we'll be good friends. You can cry on the inside."
Meanwhile, I have no pregnancy symptoms except for sore breasts. And apparently, my breasts think it unjust that I should be spared the nausea, cramping, and urgent need to pee, and so are trying to make up for the lack of all other symptoms by hurting like hell and growing at an alarming rate. I swear I can watch them grow in real time. I read somewhere that they are likely to grow three cup sizes during pregnancy. Dear god, I don't even know what size that would be?!?!
It's as if every ounce of pregnancy hormone inside of me is focusing all of its attention in this one area. I really wouldn't mind if it spread itself out a bit. A teeny bit of nausea, a smidgen of cramping, and the occasional dash to the bathroom would be better than dealing with these two giant balls of pain hanging off the front of me. Right, Nicole?
And there is another reason I wouldn't mind having a few more symptoms show up. I'd like some evidence that I am really pregnant. The sore breasts just aren't cutting it, as I know that can be a side effect of the progesterone suppositories. I'm actually hoping to feel sick. I'm longing for the odd craving of pickle- topped ice cream. I covet the need to pee.
I'm just not comfortable. I'm just not convinced. I feel like it's all a big sick joke, and the joke is on me.
Ultrasound is in 6 days. 6 LOOOOOONNNNNGGGGG days.